Hunting the Apocalypse
by Hafriko
Summary: After the Boss saved Magarac Island, Shaundi, Viola, & Mayor Burt Reynolds in a single day, he begins to set his homicidal sights on the proverbial one that got away; Eddie "Killbane" Pryor! Oh, and Cyrus Temple as well. Rated: M…because the game is too. Featuring all your favorites from SR:TT, along with 2 OCs….and BURT REYNOLDS! ***R&R Please!***
1. Fight then Flight

Chapter 1-Fight then Flight

It had been a week since the Boss had saved Shaundi, Viola, Mayor Reynolds, and The Magarac essentially with his own two heavily tattooed hands in one fell swoop. Currently, he sat the back corner booth at Smiling Jack's with his usual afternoon Olde Steel beer, watching the dust motes dance in the slanted sunlight from the windows. It was crazy, Drake thought, that he had done all that he had done that day, and still he couldn't deny a gnawing sense of failure in his gut.

"I could've bloody caught the wanker, I just know it." He muttered into the nearly empty brown bottle.

But he had made another choice that day; one that saved his city, his Saints, even his blood-stained reputation. Becoming Steelport's new resident hero had come with a potential fall from grace in street cred, but doing do by gunning down Cyrus Temple's number two in broad daylight and then giving him a very public "I love you too, mate" for the cameras was all the streets needed to see and hear to know that despite Monica Hughes singing his praises on the nightly news, Drake Peppermill was still nobody you wanted to fuck with. He was a badass, a stone cold killer, but most of all he was a fuckin' Third Street Saint.

His revere was broken by a dubstep beat from his cell.

He checked the ID, "Only know one bloke wiv a cowboy hat," he smirked and answered. "'Ello, Mayor. How's the clean-up effort coming along?"

"Ha ha ha, not bad kid. By the way, I thought I told you to call me Burt." The legend chuckled with a voice that was equal parts bravado and grit.

_Burt-Fucking-Reynolds wants to be on a first name basis with a tosser from Stillwater like me. Unreal._

"Whatever you say, Burt" The words tasted strange on his tongue. "What's new on the front?"

"Well kid, right after you freed us, I shut down Wesley Cutter and the ports, Hughes went and locked down Sierra Point too. So no one has left Steelport in the last week; thought you might like to know." The implication was palpable, only one man had been actively seeking to leave Steelport that day.

"Bloody brilliant Mayor—um—Burt! Right, well I got Kinzie tracking down what she can on the computer, but now that I know Steelport is on lockdown we can focus on finding out where Killbane got off to." Drake tried to remember what time it was when Angel called on his pursuit of The Walking Apocalypse.

"I thought you might say that." The Mayor chuckled something to someone on his end. "Yeah, well, here's Viola with more on that whole situation. Good luck, kid!"

_Viola, right, I sent her off with the Mayor to do exactly what has been done. Wow, that bird is all business; hostage to personal assistant in a day. She's definitely a Saint now._

"Hey Boss." There was that unmistakable snarky drone of the infamous Morningstar-turned-Saint, Viola DeWynter. "Got some new intel I thought might you might like to hear."

"Shoot."

"So, as the Mayor already told you, immediately after you freed us he and Senator Hughes effectively shut down Steelport's Mass Transit. This happened as a result of a conversation we had shortly after that S.T.A.G. bitch abducted us from the Mayor's Office. We were discu-"

Drake had to interrupt. "Wait a tic, what were you doing at his office? I thought you were with Kinzie tracking the chaos me Pierce and Oleg were fightin' in?"

"Um, yeah, well see I thought the Mayor might've had some questions about our trip to Zombie Island so…" Viola's mask of composure was suddenly very thin, even just by her voice.

"And this has nothing to do wiv Burt being so powerful and statuesque, right? Don't think I forgot that comment you made before." Drake remembered how Viola reacted when he had Image As Designed fix him up to look and sound like Cyrus Temple so they could bust Shaundi out of S.T.A.G.'s Aircraft Carrier. The memory sparked a light he would deal with after this call.

"What? No, I mean he _is_ but… Ugh, this is _so_ not the point of this conversation." Viola cleared her throat. "Do you want me to continue or not?"

Drake seized the low hanging fruit. "Aw right, aw right, don't get your knickers in a twist…wait, you ARE wearing knickers right now, aren't you?"

"GAH!"

"Please, Viola, carry on." Drake knew he was one wise crack away from a dial tone, Boss or not.

"Thank you. As I was saying, with mass transit shut down, I sent a few Saints down to the airport to find and secure Killbane's private jet. The Mayor sent a S.W.A.T. team as well and between the two, it wasn't hard to find the hideous eyesore that was the jet."

_All right, so that roided-out circus freak is somewhere in my city. Good. I should call Angel after this. He'll need to know vengeance is still out there._

Drake noticed the lack of excitement in her words, so the next set didn't surprise him.

"Unfortunately, the jet was totally empty. They tore the thing to pieces, but there was no sign of him. As a precaution, we left the two teams aboard the jet in case he's stupid enough to show up there later." Viola's own personal rage was now bleeding into the conversation.

It had been several weeks since Killbane snapped the neck of Viola's twin sister KiKi with a single twist of one giant hand, but Drake knew that every time Viola saw her reflection now, she saw her sister face.

"Don't worry Vi, we'll find this bastard and make him pay…for everything."

"I know."

"All right, well stay with the Mayor and make sure that fickle bitch Hughes continues to play in the pocket. She steps out of line, you have my order to see how long she lasts on Zombie Island." Drake knew the offering was of little relief to his grief-stricken friend, but it was something at least.

"Thanks Boss, I'll keep you posted." Drake thought he heard a sight lilt in her voice. Good thing she was with Burt, he thought.

"Thanks Viola, you do that."

"GODAMMIT!" a shrill voice cut deeply into Drake's ear.

Half the restaurant whipped their heads around to stare at the Boss' table.

"Wasn't me!" he was just as shocked as everyone else until he moved to turn around and accidently kicked Kinzie Kensington who he had completely forgotten was under the table hacking or power leveling, or whatever it is she does on that laptop of hers.

"Shit! Sorry Kinzie, I forgot you were under there." He spoke to the polished linoleum of the tabletop. His muscular bulk made it difficult to poke his head down there anyway.

"Yeah, some of us are actually doing work down here." Her pixie voice replied.

Drake smirked, "I can think of better things you could be doing down there…HEY!"

She slugged him in the shin. "There are way too many people in here for that."

"Is _that_ all that's stopping you?" he teased. She didn't slug him again, but she didn't respond to the rib either. Drake pictured her blushing.

"So, what pissed you off a second ago anyway?"

"Oh, that, right. Well, of course you remember Cyrus Temple and his little S.T.A.G. army from before right?" Kinzie's cute little voice was equal parts tinny and flirty mixed with a heavy dose of brilliance. Drake couldn't always help himself but get a little lost in her verbose inquiries.

"Yeah, I WAS that slag tosser for a spell, don't you remember?"

She did. "Oh right, The Thermopylae."

"Right."

"Ok, so anyway, you know I kinda have a thing for technology right?" Kinzie offered guardedly.

Drake recalled hunting Luchadores leading up to Murderbrawl a while back, and an off color comment Kinzie made about her interest in hand-held electronics. "Um…you could say that, yes."

Kinzie blazed on, "Well, after you guys sunk the Thermopylae, I was able to hack its database and download some of S.T.A.G.s open R&D Projects from that female agent's files, one of which were action plans for a war machine called the Daedalus."

Drake hated when she went into her crazy tech-speak like this. Also, he secretly loved it.

"The whatellus?"

"Ugh, dumb it down, right, I forgot." She pined. "Project Daedalus is a flying war machine roughly the size and shape of a football field, designed by S.T.A.G. to overtake an entire city in a few short hours by pure brute force. It holds two dozen fightcrafts, tanks, and a plethora of troops, soldiers, and oh yeah BOMBS!"

"Queen's bloomers, Jesus that's a lot of hardware," Drake's violent side was giddy with prospective mayhem the Saints could wreak on Killbane, Temple, and anyone else who challenged the purple-hued posse. "Okay, but all that sounds like your kind of intel, so what's the problem exactly?"

Kinzie growled. Yes, growled. "Ergh, the PROBLEM is that S.T.A.G.s main site is still heavily encrypted and now they've hooked up with some chick from the CIA named Asha Odekar and my IP was pinged and booted! Can you believe it?!"

"Um, that's…terrible?" Drake was absolutely lost.

"Forget it, you don't speak geek. Do you want to know what everyone is doing right now?" Kinzie could shift mood on a dime. Most girls would still be heated about the misunderstanding and subsequent confusion Drake showed, Kinzie was just cool like, or so Drake liked to tell himself.

"Please do, Kinzie. Tell me Pierce and Oleg aren't playing fucking Chess again!"

She giggled. "No problem Boss, I put tracking chips in Pierce's chain and Oleg's cufflinks, as well as my own custom version of lo-jack in Oleg's Criminal truck and Pierce's Sovereign, just for good measure. I got you covered."

Drake smiled at the linoleum. "That'a girl Kinz. I know I ordered them on patrol for Killbane, but where are they right now actually?" He half expected her to tell him Pierce was playing Darts at the Broken Shillelagh and Oleg was at Burns Hill messing with the Reactors.

"Of course," her fingers danced over the keys with a clattering Drake knew looked like a blur were he to see it. "Okay, wow, they're both in Oleg's truck moving West in Port Pryor, about a block North from the 3 Count Casino."

Drake was pleased; surprised, but legitimately pleased. It had been an easy decision to forsake Killbane to save his people at the time, but the idea of Killbane escaping completely was more than he was willing to allow. He was glad his lieutenants were heeding his call. "Spot on. Now how about Angel and Zimos?"

The clattering hadn't stopped while they spoke; she was already ahead of him. "Angel is still at his gym, but he did spend few minutes at the Casino and Steelport Arena this morning, looks like he's back to the old recluse routine. Zimos hasn't left Safeword since you assigned him to it. I could access the cameras there if you want…"

Drake recalled what Zimos did the last time he was set free and gave Kinzie a brusque "Let's not." Kinzie exhaled audibly, she had made the mistake of snooping on him once before and she promptly disposed of her own Penetrator Bat as a result. She also had a sudden aversion to horses.

"I suppose then you'll want to know what Shaundi and your brother are up to?" Kinzie loaded the question heavily seeing as how she didn't really care for Jake or Shaudi, and certainly didn't approve of their…activities.

"Oh god, do I even want to know?" Drake found out about the pairing when he first left Steelport a few years ago searching for Dex after he fled Stillwater. He had left Jake in charge of running the gang and the city, but that hadn't ended well. Jake's relationship with the reformed pothead had clouded Jake's judgment and almost cost him Johnny Gat. When Drake brought the Saints to Steelport, he left his younger brother behind to "clean things up. Jake was only allowed up to Steelport when Shaundi was abducted by that bitch Kia from S.T.A.G. and he had already lost Gat to Philippe Loren.

"They apparently found their trackers and ditched them on Arapice Island. Not that it's a surprise for me, but I thought you might like to know. Anyway, I also bugged their phones and those are currently pinging back at Shaundi's Loft after brief stops at Fill-Her-Up Super Toy Shop and Red Onion Herb Dispensary, in that order."

"Ganja and sex; why am I not surprised? Toss it, I guess I'll have to go track down Cyrus Temple myself then." Drake moved to get up. "You want to come with me, Kinz?"

The proposition caught her off guard, or maybe it was just his word choice. "Oh, um, well I still haven't breached that S.T.A.G. site and.." The ever loquacious Kinzie Kensington was tongue tied.

Drake saw a golden opportunity to rescue this particular damsel in suave fashion. "You're right, that's more important. But do me a favor yeah?"

"Anything!" Kinzie took the life vest.

"Don't let me fall off your radar, love." Standing now, he squat down and fired a classic British grin at the demure former FBI agent.

"Never." She replied sheepishly.


	2. Bonghits for Breakfast

Chapter 2- Bonghits for Breakfast

Jake Peppermill had never really wanted to be a leader. He had joined the Third Street Saints because his older brother Drake had survived a boat explosion set to kill him off and subsequently took over the whole damn gang, then the city, then this new city, Steelport. Steelport was not really Jake's kind of place. He grew up in Stillwater dodging trucks in the Trailer Park and watching the Saints do battle with The Brotherhood, Sons of Samedi, and the Ronin. Once Drake took over the Saints from Julius, things got better for Jake. He'd been assigned the role of Tailor in the upper echelon of the Saints. Some of the more seasoned vets weren't too keen on the promotion, but none of them had the balls to step to Boss Drake and argue the point.

Jake was a good Tailor, the title as read was a street adaptation of the traditional definition, stitching things up, mending tears, etc. Only Jake wasn't skilled with needle and thread so much as he was deft with a gun to your head, particularly a .45 Shepard. Jake was responsible for sewing up the death and chaos the Saints wreaked in their wake of social and geographic takeover. The job that changed him as a person was looking after Shaundi when Drake rescued her from that douchebag Veteran Child. Jake came back from mopping that wannabe Rasta off the floor of On Track when he Shaundi's body stretched out on his own bed.

"Sorry mate," Drake said as he walked in the room. "Yours is first inside the door, didn't wanna walk her in too far, Rasta-boy worked her over pretty good."

Jake gazed over her body in awe and wonder…he'd always seen the pothead lieutenant around of course, but she always seemed so much tougher than the semi-conscious girl laying on his bed. It wasn't always easy to see past the purple haze, the nappy dreds or the heavy makeup, but Shaudi was beautiful in a damaged and alluring way. The response was simple. "Course, brother, never minded coming home to find a minx in my bed, did i?"

Drake smiled, an odd look on such an imposing figure, what with his sizeable muscled frame and close cropped dirty blond hair, Drake was equal parts Adonis and Achilles. "Okay, well, behave yourself and look out for any Samedi that decide to try something stupid. I'll leave a crew outside just in case."

With a wink, the door closed and Jake was alone with Shaundi on his bed. She was a beautiful stranger then…fast forward a few years and the pair is lying in a bed a Shaundi's ex's place in Steelport. Drake had assigned them to chase down leads on Cyrus Temple, who had been summarily embarrassed and dismissed by both the Saints and Monica Hughes a week earlier. Instead, however, Jake and his now-girlfriend Shaundi bought a pound of Kush from Red Onion Herb Dispensary and came here to celebrate the Saints owning Steelport; at least in spirit.

Jake was lying next to the slumbering Shaundi on a too-small mattress in the dingy apartment. The room was dimly lit as it was about 4am, and the entire place was covered in ammo boxes, random firearms, a half-smoked bag of weed, a few condom wrappers, and not nearly enough clothes to cover either of them. Jake guessed the rest were out in the kitchen or living room. The two were so knotted up on the tiny bed that only Jake's heavy tattoos help him decide how to untangle himself from his lover.

"Christ your heavy for such a little tart." He whispered into her hair. He liked her hair now better than the dreds which always reeked of Nag Champa and Loa Dust. But he also liked that Shaundi a bit better. Since leaving Stillwater and Jake behind to help Drake with the bank heist gone wrong, Shaundi had developed feelings for the legendary Johnny Gat. Before Aisha's passing she wouldn't have dared, but after a few months, she allowed herself to wander a bit. Jake remembered the conversation well.

"I told him Jake." She whispered into the receiver.

Jake was on the other end of a cell call. Shaundi was in her car outside HQ, Jake was down at the docks cleaning up Drake's latest rampage through Ultor troops. "What—what did he say?"

"He said I was a lot tougher than I look, a real Saint." Shaundi was torn to even have to go here with Jake, but she was always a little lax in being committed in a relationship.

"But that's a good thing right?" Jake hated playing the confidante role, but anything was worth being something to Shaundi.

"No, he also said he's proud of me; feels like my big brother." Her voice cracked uncharacteristically. Shaundi wasn't one to catch these kinds of feelings. "Can you come over?"

"Of course."

Jake's nostalgia was shattered by the ear-splitting scream of tires over pavement. Jake ran to the window to see a fleet of neon blue Decker vehicles shooting and chasing a trio of Criminal trucks with the bright green designs of the Luchadores.

"Since when is this lot scrappin' in the streets at 4am?" Jake asked the huge purple bong before taking a big rip off it.

As he exhaled the smoke, the cars all came to a halt in front of Steelport Pawn, right next door to the loft. All the vehicles' occupants spilled out and took cover, then the biggest gunfight the city had seen in over a week took place right outside Jake's window.

"Shaundi! Wake the fuck up and get down!" Jake shouted as he dove into a pile of weaponry and rolled into the bedroom with an AR-55 fully loaded and began scrambling for some clothes. Shaundi had leapt from the bed and stumbled into a closet. Jake looked over and the two made eye contact.

_What the fuck is going on?_

Outside, the rival factions had seemingly reproduced in seconds. Almost thirty vehicles now choked the intersection and bullets were spraying everywhere. When they started coming through the drywall and shattering things in the loft, a half dressed Jake grabbed a surprisingly fully dressed Shaundi and dragged her into the kitchen, which had no windows and offered them a moment to talk amidst the firefight.

"Look, Shaundi, a minute ago I saw bunch of Deckers chasing three Luchadores trucks down the street. That's who's out there shooting the shit out of your neighborhood!" Jake was subconsciously prepping his rifle for the fight whilst he spoke.

Shaundi was leaning against the counter texting like a madwoman. "I know, and you'll never believe why."

"What?" Jake puzzled aloud. "You knew? Wait, 'course you knew, you're Shaundi. So what the bloody hell is going on?"

Shaundi continued texting while she spoke. "00ber1337, the guy that commissioned the hit on the Decker Pr0tip, says that Matt Miller was back in the city to pick up some hardware he left at the Deckers Tower downtown before he took off for good. He had an entourage of Decker foot soldiers and Specialists with him to make sure no one took out their beloved former leader, but when they stopped at a Thunder Pump for gas, they were ambushed by a squad of Luchadores led by some guy that looked like Killbane, but without his mask..."

Jake was shell shocked, "That's possible, the Mask is back in the vault at 3 Count, that's why Drake stationed Angel there. We'd better call him and see if they need backup."

An explosion outside called their attention to their current situation. Shaundi spoke first. "00ber1337 says they are trapped inside the pawn shop next door, we gotta help him first, besides, with all this going on, how are we going to get to Angel anyway?"

Jake crept over to the window to take a look at the fray below. It was absolute chaos. It seemed that the Luchadores had been able to hold their own long enough for backup to arrive. Their Specialists were lobbing scores of grenades at the Decker front line and blown a half dozen of their bright blue vehicles into flaming walls of debris.

"Looks like you're right again girl, grab a few more weapons and let's head down there. Maybe your contact is right and Eddie is somewhere down there. Drake might actually begin to forgive me if I bring him Pryor's head to go with the mask."

Shaundi pouted at the statement, she'd forgotten the brother were still at odds.

"Yeah, maybe. Let's go."

The roadway was a warzone. Rifle rounds and RPGs flew about like confetti on New Year's. Mixed in with that was the blue laser fire from those bizarre Cyber Buster guns the Deckers used, and that Shock Hammer that reminded Jake of that Thor movie he and Shaundi watched the other day. The still-stoned pair flew out of the front door of the loft and immediately dove for cover behind an overturned Decker car.

"Holy shit, Jake! How do we find anyone in all this shit?!" Shaundi's voice was peaked with an unusual amount of fear. In the back on his mind, Jake knew she probably would feel safer with Gat. He couldn't get mad at her though, Jake knew he'd feel better too; Johnny Gat was a fucking war god.

"We have to pick a target." He had to yell over the staccato of sub machine gun fire and percussive blasts of RPGs and gasoline-fueled explosions of other vehicles. "Killbane would be an easier mark to find, but your contact gave us a specific location to find him at."

"Shit." Shaundi cursed into her shoulder. "Killbane can't escape again, not after what he did to Johnny."

"Except we aren't even certain that he's here." Jake replied while returning fire against the nearest Luchador.

"Fuck, I guess we try to save my contact and maybe he can clear up the sighting at least." Shaundi now stood shoulder to shoulder with Jake as the two sprayed bullets over anything bright green.

The door to the pawn shop was only thirty feet away, but right now those thirty feet were filled with burning wreckage and open street warfare. Jake held up a closed fist to halt Shaundi's creeping progress as they moved sideways behind a Decker SUV. As he peered around the tailgate, he saw a hulking figure clutching a slender Decker in one fist and a Mini-Gun in the other. A plume of steel-hued smoke obscured everything above the broad shoulders. _Could be Killbane, could be a Brute. _He thought. Just then he felt Shaundi's hand on his own shoulder. He felt his body go rigid as he discerned why she'd do that when he'd already signaled her to wait.

"That son of a BITCH!" she screamed and opened fire over Jake's head.

His ears rang with the harmony of Shaundi's battle cry and the metallic whistle of hot shells raining past his ears and onto his neck and shoulders as he ducked down to avoid the burning. His dive carried him into the open between vehicles and a random grenade landed near his feet. He kicked it away a split second before it exploded, but the concussive force threw him bodily into the storefront window of the pawn shop.

"That was a fucking Saint!" someone hollered over the din.

"Where?" another voice replied.

"The pawn shop! Forget the cyber nerds, get the Saint!"

Jake lay sprawled across a mountain bike and an old jukebox, both of which had been overturned by Jake's airborne body as he flew through the plate glass window a moment earlier. His body was racked with pain, his head throbbed in time with his accelerated heartbeat. But what worried him the most was that the vision in his left eye had gone red. He briefly thought a piece of the jukebox was lodged in his face obscuring his view. He reached a tentative hand up to remove is and shuddered slightly as his fingertips came in contact with the warmth of the all too familiar source of crimson tint. His own blood.

"Fuck." He muttered to nobody.

As Jake carefully felt around the gash in his eyebrow, he failed to notice the hulking creature now stood over him.

A .45 Shepard was aimed as his head. "This one is for Killbane."

Jake didn't even have time to face his attacker, but he heard Shaundi scream from a distance, maybe Stillwater, for all it was lost in the sounds of battle, and blood, and a thunderous rumble of laughter somewhere just outside his head.

"No, Jake MOVE!"

The shot rang out, and Jake felt a white hot thud just over his ear, followed by spreading warmth that ran from his chest to his toes.

Then searing pain.

Then nothing.

Then the darkness overtook him.

_Shaundi, where are you? _He wondered as consciousness left his body.


	3. Some Dude's Bitch

Chapter 3- Some Dude's Bitch

"So, we put a fresh triple coat of Pearlescent White on the old girl and pinstriped the sides and Black Titanium rims with your custom shade of Blood Red as requested." The clerk said to Drake with every ounce of blind admiration you'd expect from a reformed Saint loyalist.

"Brilliant Rufus, out of all the locations in my city, your Rim Jobs always does the best work." Drake wasn't pulling the clerk's leg, he really liked that location ever since he worked a Hit on the old owner not long after he was set loose on Steelport all those months ago.

"In there _anything_ else we can do for you today sir?" Rufus kowtowed excessively, his short ponytailed black hair running into the bushy rows of side whiskers almost stereotypical of Rufus' breed of redneck. He wore his usual black leather vest, jeans, boots, and blu-blocker shades. "Anything at all?"

Drake gave him an intimidating grin. "Sure, you can tell me this work was done gratis." Nothing in life is free, he thought.

"Shit yeah!" was the reply; apparently, some things _are_ after all.

Drake hopped into his freshly pimped out Sovereign and sped Eastward, with Sierra Point fixed in his mind. _If I'm a disgraced paramilitary leader with perverse delusions of grandeur, where do I disappear to? _Guns, ammo, gear, tanks, death, etc. _Yeah, exactly, the recently destroyed military base. That's where._ As he cruised the streets, he reflected on his own conquest of Steelport and recognized how it too began with a run against that martially run island. _Thank God there's no more bombs left at that base. _Drake could only imagine where Cyrus Temple would want to detonate a bomb like that, doing to the Saints what the Saints did to Loren and his Morningstar back then.

"Boss, hey it's Kinzie, could you pull over so we can talk?" The familiar voice interrupted the KRhyme broadcast he was listening to on the stereo. "It's important."

She was being redundant, Drake mused, _she only ever calls me when something important kips up_. He slowed to a stop against the curb and knocked the gear into park. "You got me undivided, what's wrong?"

"Well Boss, you see, it's your brother." Kinzie posed cautiously, knowing his first reaction would be anger and not the appropriate emotion she was preparing him for.

"Fucking hell, what did he do now? Get pinched for bangin' Shaundi against a bus stop? What?"

Kinzie swallowed hard and thanked technology she didn't have to let him see her so nervous. "He's at the hospital; critical condition. I'm looking for more information as we speak, but all the hospital has on file so far is that he was brought in unresponsive with multiple lacerations and an open head wound that looked like the result of a gunshot. Luckily the hospital is Saints-owned, so there was no call made to the Police. I've sent two dozen of our guys over there to help lock down the floor. Pierce & Oleg are en route. Shaundi is already there."

Drake was stunned. He expected some bullshit update and got the ultimate gut check a brother can get. Luckily, his warrior spirit took over. "Fuck. Ok, I'm headed there now. Get word to Angel, Zimos, and Viola to lock down their territories and hold fast in their Safehouses. If someone is gunning down my brother, it's an declaration of war, whether or not they want it!"

Elegant but well-trained fingers were punching keys in a blur of hacker glory. "On it Boss, good luck!"

Drake stomped on the gas and floored it to the redline, he zig-zagged his way through city traffic and punched the nitrous as soon as he hit the highway. The devil himself wasn't catching up to Drake Peppermill today.

After checking in with the medical team and getting every assurance they could offer, Drake gathered his lieutenants in the otherwise empty waiting room in the ICU and held court over Jake's shooting. Pierce sat to Drake's right, Oleg stood behind Pierce's chair, Shaundi sat directly across from Pierce and opposite the Boss sat the obviously misplaced Josh Birk. Shaundi had just finished her tear-filled account of how they awoke to gunfire, got the text from the Decker contact, and joined the fray outside in hopes of catching Killbane. She broke down and lost her composure when she gave the description of the shooter.

Drake was seething. Everyone could tell. The doctors already convinced him his little brother would survive, but the word "coma" set him off. This was Shaundi's fault. Just like the last time she thought she had a shot at Killbane, she was so trigger happy, _no wait, _he thought, _the chopper shit the bed, which was Miller's fault_. Still, Shaundi had become crazy with the gunplay, ever since Gat fell.

"It's all right Shaundi, Jake's gonna live, so you will too." His backhanded gesture was well received. Oleg, ever the observant one, chimed in with a shift of mood.

"That was when she called Pierce and I." His thick Russian accent was countered by the measured diction of the former KGB training. "After an eight hour patrol of all Carver Island, we were already at odds with the fact that we had not seen a single Luchador anywhere. We checked all known hotspots from before, and Pierce even suggested a few new ones he'd heard about."

Pierce quietly celebrated the nod with a self-righteous grin and mock dusting of his shoulder.

Oleg paid him no notice and plowed on. "So, just as we were about to suit up for an excursion through Arapice Island, Shaundi called and we came to join her with all haste."

"Which was good too, cause this motherfucker ain't down with Zombies."

Oleg fixed the affable lieutenant with a meaningful glare to silence his eccentricities. "May I continue, Pierce?" Pierce shrank. "As I was saying, we arrived at the fighting in Brickston and laid waste to what was left of the Luchadors that were there; clearly some had left. There were far too many ruined vehicles for the amount of warm bodies present at the time. I did interrogate one surviving Luchador who was pinned against a utility pole. With some…persuasion, he gave me the name of your brother's shooter."

The room went silent. All faces were blank with anticipation and shock; except for Pierce, who was visible still pissed about being shushed by the giant.

Drake broke the silence with a voice of precariously restrained rage. "Well, don't keep me fucking waiting mate, who's next to die?" The skull tattoos that adorned his knuckles cast devious stares outward as the rigid finger dug into the leather armchair Drake barely sat in.

"Francisco Perez, known to the wrestling and black market worlds as 'Pipebomb' Perez, for his severe lack of a fuse for his temper; he is quite powerful and destructive as well. But what he lacks in poise he makes up for in overkill. That man is a monster."

Drake's mind was a maelstrom of homicidal thoughts and surgical strike plans. He needed to get things in motion, and fast. One question remained. "Where might we find him, Oleg?"

Oleg was prepared for the inquiry. "He tends to stay in buildings the organization has done business in before, or specifically suit his needs. Right now he needs weapons, protection, and transport for when Mayor Reynolds lifts the ban. Safest place left in Steelport with all of those things is…"

Drake knew. "Right, here's the plan, and for your own fucking benefits, do NOT interrupt me or complain. We are standing in a hospital; don't give me cause to find you your own room."

No one would .

"Birk, you're a right dodgy shit, but you helped save me brother's life. It will be your honor to escort Shaundi to Safeword where," he turned and fixed a King Cobra-like stare at the femme fatale of the Saints, "she will plant her narrow arse until I say otherwise." He cocked a blonde eyebrow to emphasize that she would not challenge this. "Oleg, you and the mob of Saints outside this room put the floor on lockdown. No face but the ones you see before you now enter the floor unless they are the two blokes in white jackets I just spoke wif."

"My apologies, sir, would you not prefer to have me come with you on the hunt?" Oleg didn't dare a challenge; he was genuinely perplexed that Drake would opt to leave him behind.

"I said no interruptions mate, but no; I want you here 'cause you scare the shit out of most people and you're the only bugger I know who can tackle a VTOL if need be. Yes, I want you here." His index finger aimed at the floor all the while. "Pierce will come wif me to Sierra Point along with any Saint not otherwise accounted for. Our army marches at this Pipebomb tonight."

Since there was no need for questions everybody parted ways as ordered; even Shaundi and Josh who, quite frankly, looked equal parts stunned and elated. Shaundi hadn't been this low since she lost Gat.

Drake and Pierce hit the elevator and a three man wall of Saint foot soldiers filled the doorway as it closed. "Right, so first we hit Powder for the big guns and the troops, then we head to the Point. You ready for this man?"

"Hell yes I am, this motherfucker right here knows how to get DOWN!" Pierce shook with bravado as he adjusted another of his many fedoras. "They ain't getting away with doing Jake like that Boss, we gon' see about that."

"Damn straight."

In the short walk between the waiting room and Birk's ridiculous Nyte Blayde car, Shaundi had evolved from dejected to down to pissed.

"Fucking Safeword? Fucking Zimos? Fucking Birk?" she seethed into the matte black dash of the aforementioned Nyte Blayde actor as they made their way east to the BDSM club she'd been banished to.

"That last part sounds…exciting." Birk wiggled his perfectly waxed eyebrows at the object of his unrequited desire.

"Up yours, fang boy! This fuckign sucks!" she pounded the seat with a hammer fist. "Do not turn that into a vampire joke, or I swear to God I will stake you to your chair!"

Birk stifled his chuckle with a poor attempt at clearing his throat. "Ahem, uh, um, never my love; anything that comes from your pouty lips is pure poetry to my ears."

Shaundi retched aloud. "I'd rather take my chances with Zombie Carlos."

Birk sat up ramrod straight. "Who—who's Carlos?"

"Never mind, Birk, let's just drive."

As the city lights came on in the inky black sky, Shaundi tried to make out individual buildings while Birk did his very best stunt driving attempts to impress her. _This is total bullshit; I've been with the Boss since that day he showed up at my house in Stillwater looking for lieutenants. And that's another thing, I'm the best shot in the gang. Those two guys outside Powder that day, and that close call on Killbane after we left—_

"BIRK! STOP THE CAR RIGHT NOW!" Shaundi shouted over the dubstep rabble of K12 's nightly Rave broadcast.

The ostentatious vehicle squealed to a halt a few blocks from the bridge into New Colvin. "I know where they're hiding! Josh, after we get into Espina, you need to take a right and—"

"Whoa, Shaundi, the Boss was very specific about taking you straight to Safeword. No detours." The usually colorful actor was suddenly soberly straightforward.

"Dammit Birk, I'm not asking!" She reached for her gun, and was reminded that she hadn't had one since Jake went down.

"Shaundi..."

"Josh, please. I know where we need to go and this could be my chance to show the Boss that he can still trust me. That I'm as good a lieutenant as Angel, Pierce, or Viola." Her hazel eyes darted back and forth between his as she searched for any sign that he'd go along with her suddenly blossoming plan.

"Shaundi, I want to, really, but I'll never have a chance to marry you if the Boss kills me now." Birk's normally overdramatic diction was again contrast with this somber tone he took now. He wanted to please his dream girl, but he was painfully afraid of death, and Drake; which was essentially the same thing for him.

Shaundi was desperate as Birk reached down to put the car back into gear. An idea popped in her head and she threw up a little in her mouth. _Desperate times…_ she thought. She grabbed his obviously lotioned hand and put in on her knee, fixing his stunned face with a wild eyed stare of surprise.

"Take me where I want to go and I'll you keep your hand right here," she patted this hand over her knee, "until we get there."

He shuddered, harder than Shaundi was comfortable with, but she took it to mean the plan was working. "Okay, okay. Where are we going?"

Shaundi sat back, triumphant; disgusted, but still, triumphant. "Just drive, I'll tell you where to go."

Moments later they sat parked a block away from a seemingly abandoned office building, Shaundi, with a pair of binoculars fixed at an upper floor with a muted blue light coming from the corner window broke the silence.

"Josh, the hand stays on the knee."

The now sweaty palm slid reluctantly down from the shiny purple thigh it had crept to. "Sorry, I was just thinking,"

"Don't hurt yourself."

"I wasn just thinking, this is pretty big risk. Maybe I could…OW!"

Shaundi cocked back the binoculars from Birk's forehead. "You know, I could've easily knocked your powder puff ass out and stolen your ride. This is your big chance to impress the Boss too, you idiot."

Josh tended to his wound with a look on his face like a scolded dog. "Ow, ow, ow. I know I just thought—"

"Like I said, don't hurt yourself; and look, you didn't listen and now you're hurt."

"Point taken. So, what are we doing here _in the ghetto?_" He tested.

"The Boss and I almost got Killbane right where we're sitting, after he fled that abandoned building. And remember Oleg said that Pipebomb guy liked staying on places that he knew?

Birk was a bit slow on the take. "Yeah, ok but did he live here or something?"

Shaundi gaped at his stupidity, shook it off and plowed on. "No, but here's what we're going to do. You give me your gun and stay in the car. I go get Pipebomb." She bent over to take the pistol and caught Birk gawking at her ample cleavage.

"Um, uh how do you know he's even in there?" Clearly, handing over the gun wasn't going to be a problem.

"Ugh, women's intuition. Now give me the piece, Birk."

She made her way around the building and crept up the fire escape carefully, reaching the rooftop after 10 arduous minutes of creeping, stopping, creeping, stopping. Stealth was the key, which was why she left Birk in the car.

_No guards?! _ She thought as she stepped from stack to stack across the roof towards the only accessible entrance the derelict building had. When she and the Boss had come here for Killbane, there were a dozen armed Deckers patrolling the rooftop. Doubt wormed its way into her gut. Gun trained on the door, then the stairs, she padded cautiously down to the room she and the Boss had torn up looking for Killbane during his interview with Jane Valderama where he trashed the Saints on air. She swept the room counterclockwise like a S.W.A.T. team would, clearing corners and corridors until she was left with a small fully enclosed room that she could not recall from before.

"The fuck?" she whispered to no one.

As she stepped to the door, she gently laid her ear to it, straining with all she had to hear any hint as to whom, or what was inside. The results were both promising and damning, at least two guards were talking over the clattering of deft fingers on a keyboard, the only break came from a posh British accent which kindly asked for _a bit of quiet if they didn't mind, hacking Kinzie Kensington's Firewalls was more of a task than anticipated._

"Miller." She breathed.


	4. Hero of the Day

Chapter 4- Hero of the Day

Josh Birk had never been so scared in all his life.

Not even when the Cyprian Order had him pinned down in that warehouse. _No wait; that was an episode of Nyte Blayde_, the over-actor mused to himself as he sat in his character's eponymous vehicle. It was one of many fringe benefits to being the Vampiric idol of the screaming teenage masses. But in real life, he had never been more scared than he was sitting outside the emergency room at Steelport Hospital when the Boss came flying in like a bat out of hell. It wasn't the wild, murderous blue eyes that darted from security guard, to a passing nurse, to the random patient in a wheelchair, before finally settling on the brick house of a woman behind the front desk who somehow calmly told him that his brother was in still in surgery. It was having those eyes rest squarely on his own when the woman extended her finger and told the Boss that "Josh Birk brought him in; he looked really bad."

Three quick strides brought the Boss to his face and rough hands raised Birk to his feet.

"What. The Fuck. Happened?" Only in hindsight did Birk recognize that the Boss' wild, homicidal eyes were rimmed in the dampness of forthcoming tears. He wasn't threatening him, he wanted information.

"J-J-Jake got shot."

Drake realized the actor may or may not soil himself while being held up like he was. Also, that was a shit answer mostly because Birk was scared; so he set him down.

"So I'm told. What I mean to say is, how is it that _you_ of all people, are the one to rush my brother to the hospital?" He slowed his speech down in an effort to calm both men.

Birk experienced a rare moment of clarity. "S.T.A.G. bugged all the Saints known Safehouses back when Temple declared martial law. I heard that hot geeky chick burned most of them, but she didn't even touch the ones at Shaundi's place."

Drake was doing the math. "You're either telling me that you still work for S.T.A.G., and I should throttle you right now," he lifted him half a foot off the linoleum "or, you're telling me you're a right filthy git and you've been snooping on Shaundi." He put him down. "Choose wisely, Birk."

"I'm a right filthy git…um, whatever that is." Birk sputtered immediately.

Drake took a deep breath and looked calmer, much to the actor's relief. "So you heard the fight start and did what, came rushing to help because you really think you're a Vampire Warrior?"

"Well, of course, I mean, wait—no, I hadn't forgotten when you gave me back to Temple way before. You scratch my back, I do yours; right Kemosabe?"

"Kemo-what-now? Don't get cheeky with me, mate. I'm still in a right state to eviscerate someone." Drake subconsciously cracked his knuckles. "So, what really happened is you heard the fight, and came over in your fangmobile, just in case Shaundi needed a little mouth-to-mouth right? But instead, you got to play the hero for real when yours was the only car still drivable."

Birk shook his head; words failed as his bravado disintegrated in his chest.

Drake took a step forward and clamped his hand on Birk's shoulder. "Fucking Devil's in the details mate," he actually cracked a quick smirk, "bottom line is you helped save my brother's life. That makes you a Saint. Welcome aboard."

Pierce and Oleg arrived just then, with a distraught Shaundi in tow. Birk took a backseat and his mind floated back to the present.

_What is taking Shaundi so long in there? Could she be lost? _His pace quickened. _Oh-oh-oh! Maybe she needs the help of *NYTE BLAYDE*! _ In truth, Birk was really just looking for an excuse to put the suit on again since they wrapped shooting after he was abducted and the series was on hiatus while the studio looked through its options. He popped the trunk and got out of the car. A moment or two later he was decked out in his complete Nyte Blayde regalia. He drew his double swords and went through a few of his favorite combos. Luckily the streets were empty this time of night, because he looked absolutely ridiculous tossing himself around against the unseen hordes of his imagination.

"You can't hide from me Mr. X!"

"I don't need to."

"Taste the cold steel of my revenge for Sylvia!"

Thankfully, his phone went off somewhere in the car. Sheathing his blades, he ran to answer the call. "Shaundi, is that you?"

"Yes, now quiet down you moron, I need your help." She whispered from the other end. "I found Matt Miller and he's only got a light guard with him, two maybe three guys at most. Do you have any other guns with you?"

Birk patted himself down. "Um, no; just my swords."

"What? Swords? How are we going to fend off armed Luchadors with a pistol and your swords?" Shaundi's voice was all irritation. She wished Gat were there, he'd have an arsenal in the trunk.

"Hold up Shaundi, did you say Luchadors?" Birk sounded unusually alert for once.

"Yeah, why?"

Birk gestured to himself, oblivious to the fact Shaundi couldn't see what he had on at the moment.

"Birk, you there?"

Realization struck; finally. "Yeah, hey I got an idea. Listen for the diversion; I got your back, my love."

"I'm not your lo-" he had hung up. Knowing it was too late to stop whatever the hell it was Birk had planned; Shaundi cocked a round into the chamber and stood ready, back to the wall next to the door. Outside, the theme music to Nyte Blayde blared from a car down below. "The Fuck?" she mouthed.

"Hey look at that!" The Luchador further from the door said.

"What is it Kyle?"

"No names Steve?"

"What the hell man?"

"Forget it, look, it's Nyte Blayde!" heavy footsteps beat towards the far window.

Shaundi got the program. She kicked in the door and put a round into the back of both the men's skulls and trained her gun on Miller, who looked like a deer in head lights…if deer wore heavy guyliner that is.

"Okay Cyber Nerd, time to talk. Tell me where Killbane is or I download the rest of this clip into your forehead!" She pulled the hammer back to prove her claim.

"Wait, please, I'm a prisoner, I swear! Look!" he raised his hands to show the cuffs that chained him to the table, then his feet to the floor. Aside from that, he looked the same as he ever did, lots of makeup, neon piping in his clothes, leather and rivets.

Shaundi was skeptical, but the evidence before her was pretty convincing. She released the hammer of the gun, but did not lower it from the self-proclaimed cyber god's androgynous face. "If that's the case, now is your chance to explain."

"Before I do, and I will, I promise, is there any chance you might undo these chains? I've been shackled up for days." His face was honest, but Shaundi was still pissed at Matt costing her that shot at Killbane from before. In the end, she decided to play the tough chick. "Depends on your info, now spill it before I lose my cool."

Matt explained how he had hastily gathered his worldly possessions once Drake had spared his life in the Decker ., and made his way to Wesley Cutter to catch the next flight back to his native England. However, despite his cordial words at the 3-Count, Killbane was not actually prepared to let the hacker leave so quietly. Matt told Shaundi how Killbane took him into captivity and forced him to begin tracking down the mask he'd lost at Murderbrawl to the Boss and Angel de la Muerte.

"So, did you find the mask for him?" Shaundi had taken a seat reverse style on the only other chair in the room; her gun held loosely in her star tattooed left hand.

Matt fidgeted with his restraints. "Sadly, I did." He opened an email on the laptop set in front of him and turned the screen so Shaundi could read it. It was a brief correspondence between Drake and Pierce about whether or not Oleg should guard the mask instead of Angel. Matt highlighted the last line.

_No Pierce, the mask stays at the casino. Angel will not let Killbane get that mask while he's still breathing._

"Fuck." Shaundi breathed. "When did you tell Killbane about this?"

Matt swallowed hard. "An hour ago, not long before you arrived. I can track him down if you want, just please release me."

There was no time to answer as a flashbang grenade rolled into the room and sent both occupants flying to opposite corners, covering their ears and eyes in vain. A single figure swept in, knocking each of them out with a shot from the butt of their tactical SMG. They then bound the pair hand and foot and dragged them into the main room outside the office where they would remain until consciousness returned.

"Are you sure you didn't kill them?" Birk asked the person squatting in front of Matt Miller, waving a smelling salts back and forth under his petite nose.

"I'm quite sure, now hush up before I reconsider my decision not to gag you." The voice was calm, measured, British, and most definitely female.

"Can you please wake up Shaundi first, I need to know my love is all right."

"About that gag?" she quipped.

Birk made a "zipping the mouth" gesture with his front bound hands and settled himself into staring at Shaundi's supple cleavage rise and fall in the slow, but reassuring pace of slumbered breathing.

Under the salts, Miller came to. "Wha-what happened? Ohhhhh, my head! Who, who are you?"

" , my name is Asah Odekar, Field Agent of MI6. Please follow my finger." A small LED flashlight had materialized in her hand. "Don't speak, and I'll tell you what you need to know; understood."

"Surely, I'm obviously in no position to retort."

"Right, so I am here rescuing you in the right place from the wrong gang and I am further burdened by the random appearance of actor Josh Birk in character as Nyte Blayde." She jerked her chin at the sulky thespian behind her.

"J-J-J-Josh Birk is here? Dressed a Nyte Blayde?! Please, please untie me so I can get an autograph, I'm his absolute biggest fan!" Miller gushed.

"In due time," she replied as she set to cut his ties and raise him to standing. "First question: I need to know whether or not you'd like to survive this night."

The question stopped him dead. "What? Yes, yes of course I do."

"Good." Asha smiled. Matt finally absorbed the woman standing before him. She was of average height, had a lean muscular build, like a dancer, a heart shaped face with bright green eyes spaced rather wide, caramel skin and inky black hair pulled back into a tight plait behind her head. In stark contrast, her wardrobe was something from the playbook of Tom Clancy. "Second question: Would you like to become a member of MI6?"

Matt's speech faltered again. "Um, as opposed to…"

"The first question,"

"Yes."

As Asha set to releasing Matt from his bindings, Shaundi was finally coming around on her own. She was less than pleased to find Josh Birk dangerously close to preforming apparent CPR. "Get your weird, soft hands off my chest and close your damn mouth. You're lucky I'm tied up right now or I would kick your fucking creeper ass!"

Birk shrank back immediately.

"Speaking of which, you mind explaining who the hell you are and why you jumped us in there?" Shaundi spat at Asha's back.

"My name is Agent Asha Odekar, of MI6 and I am here to rescue and recruit one Matthew Miller, formerly of the Deckers and formally now of MI6; not, that I owe any such explanation to a mildly reformed pothead gangbanger from Stillwater."

Shaundi was taken aback by this Alpha Female. "Why is a foreign government's intelligence agency nabbing a cyber geek from America?"

"Agent Miller is a British national, in case you somehow failed to acknowledge his London accent. We have need of his talents for an ongoing investigation. The rest of it is strictly classified so I will thank you for ceasing this line of questioning. Now, Mr. Miller and I have a flight to catch before Mayor Reynolds reconsiders."

As the pair turned to leave, Shaundi was struck with an idea. "Miller! The Boss spared your life in that cyber whatzit thing and you're just gonna leave us tied up until Pipebomb Perez shows up to claim you, finds that you're missing, and since we're here tied up he decides to kill us instead?! What the fuck!"

Miller and Asha shared a meaningful glance. The stalwart agent handed Miller a Bowie knife and told him she'd be waiting topside with the jetbike.

Matt freed Josh Birk first and Shaundi was pretty sure she heard him as for an autograph while he did so. Birk of course accommodated him before sending him on his way. Birk used his sword to free Shaundi before they too headed to the roof just in time to see the strange, wheeless motorcycle thing switch from hover mode to jet mode and zip off toward the airport.

"Well, not the best two hours of my life, I gotta say." Birk broke the awkward silence with his signature small talk. "You don't happen to have any cocoa butter on you, do you Shaundi? Those bindings really chaffed my wrists."

"No, I don't' why wou—hold up. TWO HOURS?!"

Birk was pouting about the lotion. "Yeah, you were out for like, an hour and a half, plus all that time I was in the car alone."

Shaundi was somewhere between rage and worry. "The fucking strike on Pipebomb, they're doing it without me! The Boss could use my help!"

Birk took one look at her suddenly crazed, beautifully made up eyes and sighed aloud. "Where can I take you Shaundi?"

She wouldn't need to answer. On the horizon, a little south east of them, a large explosion rocked what Shaundi guessed was Sierra Point. "The military base Birk, let's go."


	5. Hittin' the Pipe

Chapter 5- Hittin' the Pipe

The streets were choked with purple as the majority of the 3rd Street Saints might was gathered at each of the three entrances to Sierra Point and the military base that island held. All around there were the pre-dawn sounds of war. Chambers being opened, cleared, and cleaned. The cacophonous clattering of magazines slammed into handles, clips hammered into barrels, and grenades rolling into one another as they were spread onto makeshift tables for Saints gangsters to snatch up like free samples at Freckle Bitch's.

"We're gonna blast this mother fucker!"

"Show him what we got…"

"Watch me yo, I'ma cap like thirty or forty luchas by myself, dawg!"

The Ebonics-riddled bravado was as thick as mud in between the Saints ever expanding street team. Most of these guys (and girls) joined up right after the Drake Peppermill saved the Magarac. _I'm just glad we got the Armory surrounded. _He thought to himself as he waded through the purple sea of back claps, fist bumps, and gang sign throw ups of his crew. Drake tried to convince himself there was a good chance they'd succeed on this front, but ever since he lost Gat, he'd never been able to fully commit to any idea of certain victory.

"Yo, Boss, over here, got something to show you."

Pierce. Pierce Washington was one of Drake's favorite pickups from the Stillwater days. A friendly challenge to fuck up some Ronin gained the Saints Boss a solid lieutenant and a legitimate friend. "There you are mate, what's up?"

"I know you're itching to get started, but check this shit out!" he slammed his fist on a foot locker set on a Jersey barrier between them. The lid popped open and inside, Drake saw a sight that almost made his mouth water.

"Satchel charges. There's got to be what, 50-60 in here?" Drake's face was Christmas morning.

Pierce hammered on a second case at his feet. "Buck twenty all told." He flashed his highly commercialized smile. "You ready to fuck up some Luchador shit?"

Drake reached over and clasped hands with his friend. "Fuck yes." He hopped up on the Jersey barrier and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Saints, we're taking this island out, along with ANY living creature on it! If they ain't wearin' purple, you dress'em in red!"

The mob cheered as one. "HELL YEAH!"

"If any of you takes out Killbane before I get to him, I'll give you the deed to Technically Legal. How's that sound?" Drake stood with fists on hips. "All right then, grab your gear and let's go!" Drake hopped down and climbed into the modified Bulldog Humvee Pierce had idling nearby, standing himself up in the turret while Pierce drove.

"You sure you don't wanna drive Boss; it's kind of your thing." Pierce tossed a look at Drake, an honest question then.

"Not today Pierce, today I'm cutting bitches in half." He pounded on the roof, "let's ride!"

"You said it Boss." With that Pierce sped off into the fray and the battle for Sierra Point began in earnest.

Not since he and Shaundi charged the Armory shortly after they arrived in Steelport had Drake seen the military island so well populated. Luchadores wearing combinations of their trademark wrestling gear and Steelport National Guard uniforms lined the streets, buildings, towers, and barricades. Drake picked the row of enemies in front of the speeding truck and opened fire. A burning rain of spent shells poured over the roof of the truck and ricocheted off into the blur of passing scenery. Fountains of blood erupted in the wake of Drake and Pierce's passing.

"Head for the training hangar Pierce, same one you picked us up at way back." He yelled over the din. Thinking back to the _Gangstas in Space_ shoot, Drake thought that it was the best building to stage a siege as opposed to a blockbuster movie.

_Shit, with any luck Andy Zhen might be hanging around scoping out a sequel; maybe I'll shoot something first_.

An abrupt swerve from the driver told Drake the message had been received. Unfortunately, Drake's suspicion of where Pipebomb might be hiding was confirmed by the wall of humanity that caused Pierce to slam on the brakes, nearly launching the Boss into the row of Brutes slowly turning their Mini-Guns in the direction of the screaming tires.

Drake cried out for Pierce to get out of the Humvee as he pulled himself up and over the turret, rolling into a crouch behind the vehicle and drawing his twin .45 Shepherds. Pierce dove in beside him as the unmistakable revving sound came to a crescendo as the high caliber slugs began ripping apart sheet metal and glass, on their way to the duo.

"BOSS, WE GOTTA MOVE! THOSE BRICKS ARE TEARING UP MY HUMVEE!" Pierce shouted between guarded shots at the Brute-wall.

Drake spied around the bumper for something he could blow up. His stormy blue eyes were obstructed by a large box strapped to the Humvee.

"Shit." _Blow up. _"Pierce, the Satchel Charges!" Drake thumbed at the payload of explosives strapped to the rear of the quickly eroding vehicle. They both spun around and began unloading the two cases from their brackets.

"Aw, fuck man!" Pierce's hand shook slightly as he handled each charge as if it could blow at any second; which it certainly could have. "Boss, what exactly are you planning to DO with all this shit once we unload it?"

"The plan is to cover the backside of this truck with about half of the charges. Then, I wire them together while you take cover behind…that wall of sandbags just there." One tattooed finger pointed at a low wall thirty feet behind them.

"I'm likin' this plan!" Pierce began setting the charges while Drake wired one to the next in a sort of daisy chain.

"Then, I push the rolling bomb into the wall of Brutes, join you behind the wall, detonate the charges, blow them all to Hell, and we press on towards the hangar. It's cake, mate."

"Cool. Well, it looks like I'm just about done now and you can get on with that wiring shit soooo, can I tuck a nut and get behind that wall?" The seedlings of fear crept into his voice as Pierce slowly stepped backwards towards his goal.

"Sure thing." Drake sneered. "I'll be back there in a nip, sweetheart." _Just hope this plan really works, otherwise it's an awful waste of some beautiful plastique._

With the last charge wired, Drake got a low stance and gave the Humvee a mighty push. All the while, the percussive rattle of mini-gun fire pounded in his ears reminding him why he was exerting so much effort. "Chew on this, you lousy sods!" The rolling bomb picked up a bit of speed with Drake's final shove and he used the momentum to dash and then leap into position next to Pierce, who already had his favorite K8 Krukov cocked, locked, and ready to go.

"All good Boss?"

Drake raised his fist to show the detonator he held his thumb poised over. "Let's wish'em a Happy St. Crispin's Day!"

He depressed the button just as the bomb collided with the knees of the Brute wall. In an instant, a huge fireball consumed the wall and both Pierce and Drake were able to identify the oversized body parts that came raining down on the street. Pierce retched as a gigantic tongue landed on his forearm.

"C'mon mate, we properly kicked the hornet's nest now; we gotta move!" Drake shouldered a rucksack full of the remaining satchel charges and hurdled the sandbags before hitting the pavement at a sprint towards the hangar.

"Why do I always gotta get the filthy shit on me?!" Pierce shook off the charred lump of flesh and followed after Drake.

As the pair moved down the street, they paused sporadically to dispatch wave after wave of pistol-packing Luchadores foot soldiers, Specialists wielding GL20 Grenade Launchers, and the occasional rogue Brute armed with a Flame Thrower or mini-gun. Pierce had his Boss' back in earnest, joining in Drake's guttural Death scream, when the blood-crazed leader wasn't laughing his ass off, or throwing Schwarzenegger-worthy one liners at his meteorically increasing body count.

"BOSS," Pierce threw a short elbow at Drake's back to catch his attention, "BOSS, LOOK OVER THERE, THE HANGAR!"

Drake tore his eyes from the smoking barrels of his twin .45 Shepherds and felt his rapidly pumping blood roar to boil. Two hulking figures were running out towards a lone S.T.A.G. Condor in the yard. _ .Way._ He shoved the sack of explosives at Pierce and took off like a bolt from a crossbow. While sprinting, Drake threw fists, elbows, and flying knees at the blur of red and green faces that attempted to obstruct his progress. An overturned truck became a Launchpad as Drake buried a booted foot in the kidneys of a turned Luchadores and hurdled over the ten foot tall brick wall. As his feet touched down, Drake's eyes scanned the distance between himself and his targets. _Not even ten yards, mate. You're mine._ Time lurched as he drew both his pistols and took aim at the now scuffling men fighting over the closest cockpit seat; it would not bear them both.

With a violent shove, Killbane put his associate on his plus-sized ass and climbed into the airship. Drake swore the unmasked bastard winked at him from afar. The thrusters fired up in a burst of blue flame and Drake knew his window for a shot was closing fast. Robbed of his primary target, he set his sights on the kneecaps of the now upright Pipebomb Perez, and squeezed the triggers. The behemoth fell to his shredded knees and only held himself up with quavering arms. He looked up in dismay at his departing General as he flew off due West.

Drake took two vain shots at the Condor before walking up to the kneeling Pipebomb and burying a snap kick in his ribs, rolling him over to his back. Pipebomb roared in pain and made an attempt to rise, which Drake rebuffed by pistol whipping him across his masked face.

"Where is he off too?" Drake seethed through clenched teeth as he pressed his boot to where the man's right kneecap should have been. Another wail.

"AAHHHH! He's off to see the fucking Wizard, that's where!" Pipebomb had a thick, unmistakable Mexican accent; and he spat when he talked. A lot.

"Oh, a bloody comedian are we now?" Drake sneered and ground his boot into the gory mess beneath it. Pipebomb grunted awfully, but would not yield.

Just then, Pierce and the Saints cavalry rolled up, securing the yard with an execution that would have impressed the Boss, had he been able to look away. "Where's Killbane? Is THAT Pipebomb Perez?"

"Si, Moreno mami. ARGH el sabado…." Pipebomb's cry of pain was cut short as Drake stomped on the tattered appendage and then shot him in the gut.

"Yes Pierce, this is him. Killbane flew off before I could take him out, so Pipebomb here was just about to tell me WHERE mister Pryor is heading before he bleeds out under my heel!"

"Besame culo cabrón!"

"Then how about we have a look at your pretty face before I blow your brains into salsa!" Drake reached down and ripped the sacred mask from Pipebomb's head, exposing a nondescript Mexican face with a ridiculous black handlebar mustache and rather thick eyebrows. His bland brown eyes darted between Drake's face and Pierce's with wild rage and anger. Both men were swiftly reminded of how Killbane reacted when he was done the same way back at Murderbrawl, also by Drake's hand.

A spark flew in his mind. He knew where Killbane was going now and he needed to move fast.

"Pierce, call Tobias and get him over here yesterday!" Drake's face was a barely tempered fury.

"Sure thing Boss, what do we do about this guy? I mean, he hasn't told us shit." Pierce pointed at the squirming hulk beneath the Boss' boot.

A pair of shots rang out simultaneously, and Pipebomb's chest blossomed red.

"What guy?" Drake gave a disgusted look at the dead man's mask before stuffing it into his back pocket. "Have Jake's crew clean this place up and then move all of our arsenal in here. I'll let Mayor Reynolds know the Saints are taking over Sierra Point from now on."

Pierce's face was a combination of compliance and concern. "Whatever you say Boss, but um, what about Killbane?"

Drake took a deep breath in and out and cracked his neck audibly. "He's going to the 3-Count Casino, Pierce. I should've fucking seen this coming."

"Why there? Killbane knows we got it locked down."

"No, _Angel de la Muerte_, his old nemesis has it locked down with only a handful of Saints to run basic security. I pulled everyone else here for this shit."

"But why—" Pierce began before Drake fixed him with a meaningful sapphire glare that somehow cleared the affable lieutenant's mind. "Oh shit, he's getting his mask back!"

"Right, and you remember Murderbrawl; I gave Angel his one on one shot at him and he blew it. I had to take Pryor down myself. As fucking always."

Pierce looked like a whipped little boy. "I'll go call Tobias and then get this place locked down, Boss."

Drake watched him walk away as he prepared himself for the showdown to come. That was assuming of course, that Eddie Pryor didn't live up to his nickname before the Saints could get there. He pulled out his phone and hit a speedial number before laying the device against his ear. It rang twice before the familiarly gruff voice answered.

"He's coming, isn't he?" Angel growled the rhetorical question.

"Yeah, we're on our way though."

Angel sighed aloud. "Don't worry about it Boss, this is what I want. I'm ready."

The line went dead. Drake said a silent prayer to whoever was up there.

"Just give me time; please."


End file.
